


Ebony and Ivory

by CommanderBayban



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Classical Music, First Meetings, Fluff, Friendship at first sight, Gen, Orchestra, Pianist Sixth Doctor, University Professor Sixth Doctor, Violinist Peri Brown, squish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:40:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27962432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommanderBayban/pseuds/CommanderBayban
Summary: The Doctor takes Evelyn on a trip to watch the London Symphony. But what was meant to be a casual night out soon turns into a surge of enthusiasm once a young violinist named Peri takes centre stage. Oh, what is a Doctor supposed to do?
Relationships: Peri Brown & Sixth Doctor
Kudos: 2





	Ebony and Ivory

Peri shuffled through the vast lineup of clothes stashed in her wardrobe. She had been standing there for longer than she cared to remember, mentally debating whether she should wear a dress or a pantsuit to her inaugural performance. Then there was the issue of which accessories to don and what style of coiffure to sport.

Usually she wouldn’t be in such disarray on the evening of such an occasion, but this show was different—she, an American who had only moved to the United Kingdom a short time ago, was to have the distinction of being concertmaster in a world-renowned orchestra. It wasn’t her first time sitting in the coveted first-chair position; she had carried the badge all through her years at Juilliard, which gave way to multiple opportunities to perform with the ‘big leagues’ before she had even hit senior year. When she graduated, her immense talent allowed for her first stint in the Chicago Symphony Orchestra to be fourth chair, beating out dozens of fellow violinists who had been in the scene half her life and then some.

But then, after amassing a laudable number of headlining shows with prominent household names, she received a call from the London Symphonia asking if she wished to audition. Before she could even think about the request, her lips shouted out ‘yes!’ from the depths of her soul. It was only after the call ended when the butterflies erupted into a fluttering mess in her stomach. Not only because of what this could mean for her entire music career, but also because...well...did she come on a bit too eager? She couldn’t help it! Since she was a child, all she ever wanted to do was play orchestral music. It didn’t matter whether it was a recorder, a cello, or a trombone; she _had_ to spend her life encompassed by sweeping melodies and ethereal harmonies.

Peri’s parents were not the music sort. Correction—her parents were not of the _classical_ music sort. Her step-father, an avid metalhead, found it drab and only worthy enough to lull one to sleep, while her mother didn’t care one way or the other. They both found digging up fossils and skillfully brushing off remains more interesting than Beethoven’s Ninth. When it was time for Peri to apply for university they suggested the top STEM schools in the country despite her having been a principal player in her school’s orchestra since sixth grade and the vice president of her high school’s Band and Orchestra Association. But after applying, auditioning, and paving her own way through the exclusive world of the ‘fine arts’, her parents made it a goal to attend every concert they could possibly attend save for any that coincided with scheduled archeology excursions.

And now here she was, after being _asked_ by the London Symphony to audition for their philharmonic, she was to be their principal player. Such an honour begged for scrupulous clothing deliberation. After all, the lot of wide, gazing eyes would be situated directly on her.

With a huff, she decided on the tried-and-true black pantsuit with the silver accents on the lapel and her new stilettos she had bought the day prior. For accessories, it was always her Saint Christopher—that wasn’t a matter of discussion—and...her modest, yet elegant, pearl earrings. Sophisticated and fierce: just the aesthetic she strived for regardless of context. Back in America, her fellow players would always comment on the amount of effort she put into her outfits even for a simple rehearsal or meeting. Little did they know that, because of her keen eye for style, picking out what to wear on a Thursday afternoon came with minimal effort at all!

After slipping on her clothes and dabbing her face with a subtle amount of makeup around the eyes and lips, Peri hustled out to the living room, still running a brush through her shoulder-length dark hair. “Do I look alright?” she said in a rather exasperated tone.

Her friend and fellow roommate Beretta was strewn out on the sofa watching repeats of whatever reality show had tickled her fancy for the moment and mindlessly scrolling away on her smartphone. She tilted up her head and rolled her eyes, “Peri, I love you, girl, but you ask me this _every. Single. Show._ And the answer is always ‘ _yes’_. You look stunning!”

Beretta’s southern twang (meaning, the southern portion of the United States) obviously pinged her as either a tourist or an expatriate. And such an assumption was correct. She and Peri had met back when they both were in school. With her going for a major in film production and Peri going for one in fine arts, naturally both types of students found themselves gravitating towards New York’s most well-renowned museums. Which is where they both met: standing in front of an avant-garde painting that Beretta found to be sporadic and confusing. She asked Peri what she thought of it and Peri said much of the same. The colours made her feel like she would be blinded into a hallucinogenic frenzy if she stared at it for too long. Beretta laughed at the response and decided that, because they both seemed to be there alone, why not spend the rest of the time with someone who had the same (immaculate) taste?

When Peri informed her friends and colleagues about her new offer overseas, it then became a matter of housing and all of the other logistics that goes into such a move. Her parents were skeptical. Peri was an agreeable child, but she had a way of getting herself into all kinds of charades with friends and those who didn’t know her from another stranger on the street just the day before. When her mother called upon Beretta, who was itching to leave the country anyway, to be her roommate—why, she couldn’t decline!

Peri gazed upon her reflection in the mirror situated above the couch and winked, “Thanks. You know, I really wish you could come, Beretta. This is a huge night for me.”

An uncomfortable expression tried to force its way through Beretta’s sculptured face, “I _knooow_ , but you know why I can’t.”

“That hot guy,” Peri deadpanned.

“He asked me out tonight and I just _can’t_ pass him up. I’m really sorry.”

“You could’ve brought him, you know,” Peri set down her brush upon the coffee table and minced over to the kitchen to pour herself a cup of coffee.

“Peri, you’ve seen Darien. He’s definitely _not_ the kind of guy to be hangin’ around some orchestra concert unless they were providing the backing track for Springsteen or Slash. Anyway, speakin’ of men, it’s about high time you found you one.”

Peri covered her face as she snorted the drink from her nose, “Yeah, right! Men are the last thing on my mind!”

~~~~

“I’ve had this on my mind all week, Doctor. Despite my love for classical, it’s been a long time since I’ve been to the philharmonic!”

The Doctor flipped on his turn signal to join the cavalcade of vehicles pulling into one of the many exorbitantly priced parking lots downtown. On any normal day they’d be disgustingly expensive, but as tonight was deemed a ‘special event’ it gave the lot owners a chance to scrape every last dollar from their patrons’ wallets.

“Technically, Evelyn, Mussorgsky was a member of the Romantic movement: an era that was distinctive because of its bold, dramatic pieces whose themes ranged from the fantastical to the inner struggle within man’s spirit. Classical, on the other hand, was much more streamlined and modest in tone.”

“So _that’s_ why you chose this particular event instead of taking me to hear, say, _Vivaldi_?”

“Well, actually, he was baroque. A stark contrast to both classical and romantic in terms of both style and sound. Even a mainstay like _The_ _Four Seasons_ would have been considered too solemn and ostentatious for ol’ Modest.”

The Doctor pulled up to one of the lot attendants: a scruffy young fellow who, by the pungent odour of his breath, had just finished puffing a stick or two.

“Thirty,” he monotoned.

“Thirty?” The Doctor ruffled his brow before staring down at the boy’s open palm then up at his near lifeless eyes, “ _Thirty?_ ” he repeated indignantly, “To _park_ my OWN _car_? I can understand if it came with a clean and a wax, but parking _MY_ vehicle in _YOUR_ car park costs you _NOTHING_. How you sleep at night knowing that you charge these ridiculous prices is beyond me!”

The boy calmly gestured at the sign propped up on the wall of the booth beside him, “I don’t set the prices; I just enforce ‘em. Anyway it said thirty when you drove up. Pay it or leave.”

Considering there was a high probability that the other lots were more expensive, coupled with the fact that the surrounding storefronts had curfews that would charge double if one parked there for longer than fifteen minutes, he was left with virtually no choice. In the bustling world of downtown, ‘complementary’ was a word only assigned to pool towels and hotel breakfasts. The Doctor huffed and patted about his pockets. String...jelly babies...a cheap stress toy in the shape of a penguin from when the English department hosted their annual publishing expo. He turned to Evelyn with a simpering expression across his face, but she was already wrist deep in her purse counting cash like a kingpin who struck it big.

The attendant exchanged the bills for a tiny, blue ticket and off they went to search for a spot. Evelyn stuffed her wallet back into her bag and buttoned it shut, “Who’s the baroque one now?” she smiled.

“In a world where the history of the universe is available for free with the touch of a finger, why must we still subject ourselves to the tortures of frivolous upcharges?”

“They have to make money somehow, Doctor.”

“ _They_? Who are _they_? The walking smokestack, the elusive owner, or the government who can’t help but squeeze every last penny from us yet never seem to have enough when it comes to instituting or fixing public services?”

Evelyn rolled her eyes playfully, “Let’s just find a parking spot so we can go inside. As soon as the music starts, you won’t even remember this conversation.”

“I hope you’re right. I wouldn’t want my time with you to be dampened by my distaste of avarice.”

As they approached the ushers at the theatre’s entrance, Evelyn found herself rather stunned that her companion whipped out two crisp tickets from his coat pockets. Not only was her pocketbook sighing, but she did too—if the event happened to be sold out, it would’ve been a waste of the three hours it took for them to drive there.

The Doctor had been planning this outing for a few months now. At the university campus they both taught at, they were both considered two peas in a pod despite being in two separate disciplines and two separate departments. If possible, they scheduled their lunch breaks around each other’s classes and office hours and together they would often carpool to and from work.

Every so often they would make plans for some kind of day (or night) out on the town, whether it be to the museum or the annual quilting fair. The only stipulation was that whatever the other chose, no matter how esoteric or unfamiliar, the other person had to attend. No ifs, ands, or buts about it (a rule that was instated by Evelyn herself because of the Doctor’s reluctance to attend the aforementioned quilting fair which he _did_ end up enjoying once he was flocked by exuberant old ladies who got a kick out of his outfit!). This time he had picked an event that interested the both of them and, although it was relatively out of the way, she was glad to be here. It was much better than listening to soap operas or exploitative reality shows on the telly.

The lobby of the theatre was chock full of guests in formal attire imbibing themselves of the _complementary_ beer samples sponsored by a local brewery and chatting about who knew what. Though they made for an obvious eccentric pair back at Sheffield-Hallam, here they were completely inconspicuous. The Doctor had changed into a more traditional black-tie affair while Evelyn opted for the austere and comfortable black shirt and trousers with ivory cardigan.

“Thirsty?” He asked, as they stood idle waiting for the ‘all clear’ to take their seats.

“No, I just had some hot cocoa before you picked me up. But knock yourself out, _figuratively speaking_ , of course.” She figured that his asking was another way of telling her that _he_ was parched and sure enough he promenaded over to the table containing the wares and dutifully took it upon himself to sample each and every one.

There were a variety of different flavours the brewery brought, with some being on the fruitier side and others more of the familiar, hops taste. He would’ve loitered around a bit longer, but other than the staffer being punctilious of what constituted as a free sample, the pushy sales pitches were too much to handle. From the price of the gas to the price of the car park, could a man not sate his thirst without being hounded by salespeople every time a drop passed through his lips?

He returned back to the company of someone who wouldn’t pester him and together they had a pleasant repartee about students who refuse to properly cite sources and those who would make brilliant historians and future instructors. Being a teacher, whether for toddlers or doctoral students, afforded one many a talking point. One could meet people from every walk of life just by teaching one class. As stressful as the job sometimes was, it was rewarding knowing that you have possibly inspired students to think and engage with the world in ways that they never had before.

Soon the ushers propped open the doors and allowed for the deluge of guests to cross the thresholds and search for their seats. From a modern foyer with floor to ceiling windows overlooking how the glistening city lights illuminated the busy streets...to a warm expanse with apricot-coloured seats and lustered woodworking. Above the stage hung a modernist light fixture in the shape of a large whirlwind. The orchestra’s chairs and conductor’s platform was set all in their signature arc, but soon the sight of it was blurred by the crowd of spectators flooding the room.

Evelyn followed the Doctor to their seats. Correction—Evelyn followed the Doctor to _someone else’s_ seats. _He_ followed _her_ to their seats—the second level and right smack in the middle of the closest row to the bannister. According to him, these were the best seats in the house. No one to block your view and just far enough back that your ears won’t be hit by a barrage of eager trumpeteers but also close enough that you could hear the twinkle of a piccolo.

They opened their programs simultaneously and flipped through the various pages that chronicled the history of the venue, the orchestra itself, and the upcoming featured events.

“Ah, we shall open with Tchaikovsky’s _Violin Concerto in D Major_ , played by a Miss Perpugilliam Brown. How delightful. I once met him, you know, and a fine chap he was. The Hermit of Klin, they called him, but he certainly didn’t mind spending a day or two out with me when he hit the dreaded writer’s block.”

Evelyn shot her friend a not-so-subtle look askance, “You’ve met practically everyone, haven’t you?”

“Good heavens, no,” he demurred, “There isn’t enough time to do so. Take for instance,” he tapped the page with the back of his hand, “Miss Brown. Not only have I not met her, I, in fact, have never heard of her until now!”

“I bet that’ll change by the end of the night,” she mumbled to herself.

“Hm?”

“Oh, nothing!”

Evelyn may have well made a cute remark or comment in response, but the Doctor was too busy being lost in thought as he perused the young virtuoso’s biography. _‘She was born with a bow in her hand, music in her heart, and a dream in her mind,’_ it read, _‘A star player in America, she had been fortunate to go straight to the top of the music scene right after graduating from Juilliard. From making her name in towns from Chicago to Los Angeles; and playing with the likes of famed cellist Yo-Yo Ma, piano virtuoso Evgeny Kissin, and fellow violinist Itzhak Perlman, she makes her mark here in the UK with a residency in the London Symphonic Orchestra.”_

“What a distinguished young lady,” Evelyn chirped, loud enough for the Doctor to hear. She then closed her program, slid it into her purse, and reclined back in her seat with a satisfied sigh, “Surely she’ll do a fabulous job tonight. I can’t wait to hear it.”

With one swift move he did much the same—crossing his legs at the knee and folding his hands together on his lap. He couldn’t deny Evelyn’s complement for Miss Brown; for someone so young she had accomplished more than many thrice her age could boast. In a way she reminded him of himself: studying thermodynamics and engineering in school only to make a name for himself far away from the drudgery and injustice that periled his own planet.

Maybe he would meet her when all was said and done and the last note had finished reverberating from the illustrious halls. Even if it was to do nothing else but congratulate her on a successful career thus far, meeting her was definitely an item to check off on the list tonight. And, as a lagniappe, another name in the annals that he could brag about meeting! Well, there was positively nothing to lose!

“Indeed,” the Doctor said with a smile, “I’m quite looking forward to this.”

The audience was still talking amongst themselves at about a _mezzo-forte_ when the orchestra shuffled in to take their respective seats. The volume of the theatre was loud enough to where it appeared that the musicians snuck in like a clandestine group of mimes. Not a single scrape of a chair nor a dull, metallic _ping_ from their music stands was uttered amongst them. It was only when the house lights began to dim when the audience’s chatter followed suit.

After a moment of pure silence, Peri emerged from backstage with her head held high and her instrument of choice tucked beneath her arm as she strided across the spotlight. The crowd burst into polite, yet enthusiastic, applause until she took her place upon the conductor’s platform. When the ovation ceased, she gave a subtle nod to the principal oboe player who hummed a firm ‘A’ for the woodwinds, brass, and strings to tune from. Despite the musicians playing varying notes irrespective of one another, the sound they produced was still harmonic and made the audience’s hearts flutter as their aural palates were whet.

As they all warmed their fingers and lips with a cursory check of their instrument’s pitches, Peri returned to her seat directly beside the podium and did the same. When the last person concluded their tuning, the conductor sauntered into the limelight with raucous applause following behind him. The orchestra rose to attention to denote respect, but with their crisp suits and flowing gowns, they, too, were worthy of accolade. He gave two grand bows in front of his platform and held up a hand as he mouthed ‘Thank you’ to those who took time out of their schedules to listen to their gift of beautiful music.

When he turned back to face his musicians, he gave the cue for them to rest—except for Peri—who knew that she was to remain standing. There was another brief second of silence, but by the jovial faces across the orchestra, one could wager that he was pulling furtive little jokes. The corners of Peri’s lips upturned as well, but it was more related to her nervousness than being genuinely amused. Despite having stood in this position myriads of times before, the feeling of gentle disquietude never went away. Beretta had been serenaded hundreds of times whilst she was practising; heard the same run of chromatic scales emanate from the cozy niche of her bedroom hundreds of times...there was no doubt in her mind that she’d do well. And yet, in the back of her head, she couldn’t help but attempt to convince herself that ‘ _this’_ would be the time she’d falter and her career would go into a tailspin. With the last few seconds ticking down before her concerto began, she made a series of deep breaths to soothe her pounding heart.

Then the conductor ran a thin, wrinkled hand through his messy, grey hair before holding his hands up to attention. The orchestra followed suit and Peri, still standing, slid her violin beneath her chin and contorted her fingers into the shape of the leading note. With a collective breath, the opening downstroke commenced. The beginning melody Peri pulled from her violin was rich and warm like the finest velvet. Each note’s tone was clearer than glass and resonated throughout the house, tenderly kissing the ears of all who listened. As she continued on, her eyes fluttered shut and her body began to sway and dance to the sound her own fingers were producing. Any feeling, any emotion, she had before the music began had dropped away from her. She was now fully at the whims of the concerto. Many times interviewers, patrons, or even fellow musicians would ask how she felt in a moment like this, but her answer was always the same. Floating. Being carried high above the clouds and away from all that ever bothered her; encompassed by twittering sixteenth notes and smooth half notes as the world seemed to slow down and relax for a moment in time.

Evelyn watched with pure adoration for the young maestro; how she attacked each note with passion and conviction that was both delicate and fierce. What amazed her was how these virtuosos could play strings of winding complexities completely from memory. Unless there was someone in the audience with a massive number of cue-cards, Peri was playing straight from the heart. Evelyn had dabbled a bit in the classical arts back when she was a child, but she was never proficient at getting into the right headspace necessary for such things. When playing her cello, her mind would always be swirling with questions about the composers themselves: when did they start creating music, were they ever commissioned by royalty, how were their pieces received by both the government and the general public? None of this ever mattered when the house lights went down, which only reminded her of her _true_ calling in life.

But Evelyn, a self-proclaimed expert at multitasking, stole a glance at the fellow who sat on the right side of her. His hands were clasped upon his lap without a hint of motion from his fingers; every innermost thought and heartfelt feeling was kept within the confines of his mind. But to her left, she saw the Doctor. His eyes were closed, but through his facial expressions alone she could read how each emotion portrayed by Peri’s sensuous melodies was affecting him. As the orchestra joined in behind her, his hands _staccato_ ed, _largo_ ed, and _adagio_ ed to himself as he took on the role as the silent conductor. When it was Peri’s time to shine during solos, his hands resorted to a simple steeple position, a conduit for the energy to travel from her fingers to his. Watching him made her feel as though everyone else was too idle, too passive while watching the show, but then again, everyone interprets and engages with music in their own special way. After all they had been through together, she knew by now that the Doctor was _not_ the kind of man to sit still...even if the social conventions did call for it.

Soon the orchestra swelled with vigour as Peri led the last few dramatic notes for the ending of the first movement—the _allegro moderato_. Her fingers glided across the fingerboard with such speed and precision that even the copious amount of double stops couldn’t wipe away the tranquillity that lay across her face.

The second and third movements (the _Canzonetta_ in _andante,_ and _Finale_ in _allegro vivacissimo_ , respectively) were played _attacca,_ or with no obvious break between them. It began tenderly and smooth, like a song written for a lost lover by someone who was deep in the sloughs of despond, but built up into a frenzy wherein the writer desperately fought to take back their love—successfully.

With a few finishing strokes that sounded easier than it was to play, the venue erupted into applause and standing ovations. Of course, both Evelyn and the Doctor both took to their feet and joined in.

“Brava, brava!” she cheered. The conductor turned around and gestured towards the soloist. Peri, with a proud grin, soaked in her accolades before kissing the cheek of the conductor who was also participating in the applause. She then bowed once more and coupled it with a few silent words of gratitude. With the continued laudation, the conductor stepped off of his podium and followed Peri backstage. The orchestra shuffled behind at a leisurely pace and soon the lights rose to their warm, evening glow. Conversations resumed as normal and pockets of the audience made their own way back into the halls and the foyer to quickly tend to their needs before the suite began.

But the Doctor and Evelyn simply fell back into their seats.

“Ah, what a delightful performance to whet our appetites—just as I expected from such a talented virtuoso,” he smiled, “And, pray tell, what did _you_ think, Ms Smythe?”

“I thought it was absolutely stupendous. How she can move her fingers so quickly, I'll never know. Although, by the look of it, you didn’t seem to have much trouble keeping up with her!”

The Doctor tilted his head, “How do you mean?”

“Did you not notice the way you were moving your hands and contorting your face throughout the entire show?” she replied with a laugh, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say _you_ were the one leading that orchestra!”

“Did I appear that way? Curious, I didn’t notice at all. Alas, it’s difficult for me to remain idle whilst being enveloped in the warm embrace of such wonderful music. I could feel every ounce of emotion from her soul cascading into me, filling my spirit with aural ambrosia...not to discount the rest of the brilliant musicians, of course. Did I ever tell you the story—”

“Of when one of your students walked in on you headbanging to hardcore metal?”

He looked at her dumbfounded, “When did I tell you that?”

“ _Last week,_ when you came over to my home and gorged yourself on an entire plate of my homemade cookies.”

The Doctor grimaced at both the memory of his embarrassment and of his indulgence, “Well, another wise man once said, ‘If music be the food of love, give me excess of it...’”

It was just after teaching a Composition I course to a group of freshmen. The topic of the day was continuing off of the topic of the week and ultimately the purpose of the class: how to write a research paper. The students were to choose a subject regarding an issue plaguing the environment and write an essay arguing for _and_ against it. At the end of the class, when no one had any further questions, the Doctor packed up his satchel and made his way back to his office down the hall. His scheduled office hours weren’t for another hour, which, in his mind, afforded him sixty minutes of peace and productivity.

As he browsed the vast music library stored on his desktop computer, he waded through dozens of genres and playlists ranging from jazz to post-rock to Gallifreyan folk music, but ultimately decided that ‘Today felt like a metal day’ and scrolled to find the appropriate playlist. He then plugged in his headphones, cranked the volume to eleven, and pulled up another course’s ungraded assignments.

Some indeterminate amount of time passed and he was still working diligently. The music helped to keep him energised while reading the hundredth paper that was just another variation of a theme. The plus side of having online assignments was you didn’t have to strain your eyes and wrack your brain trying to figure out that the word written as ‘beffe’ or ‘reffo’ was not a neologism, but actually ‘ _before_ ’; and that time didn’t have to be wasted pointing out typos because the computer (should have) sorted it out in the process.

The next song was a hit by a group erroneously named Elements of Obscurity. He turned the volume up to twelve and nodded his head to the hard-hitting opening beats. When the singer began his signature rapid vocals, the Doctor couldn’t help but sing along. Every line was delivered at just the right time and rhythm, and when the song dropped into the more ballad-like verses, he didn’t miss a beat. When the chorus returned, he was so engrossed in the swirling guitars, pounding bass and drums, and eccentric growls that he had completely failed to notice that one of his students had knocked on the door and let herself in. He continued bobbing his head and belting out the rather eldritch lyrics until, in one fell swoop, his headphones slid from his puffy, blond hair and onto his keyboard with a _SLAMclack!_

Shaken by the shroud of music being abruptly ripped from his person, his eyes widened at the sight of a familiar face watching him from in front of his desk. In their silence, the song kept playing through his headset but in a tinny, low fidelity way that only made the situation more awkward. “Oh, uh, Melanie, hello; I didn’t see you there,” he cleared his throat and adjusted his turquoise polka-dotted necktie. “Um, how...can I help you?”

“‘Pestilence’ by Elements of Obscurity?” she winked, “Good choice.”

~~~~

Peri took a few generous gulps of water as she and the other musicians rested their adroit hands backstage. Every second it seemed like someone was congratulating or complimenting her on a job well done to the point where her rosy cheeks looked more like makeup than an innate emotional response. Hundreds of hours sunk into practising day in and day out all culminated in a single performance that barely scraped forty minutes in length. It was equal parts ‘Thank goodness that’s over!’ coupled with ‘When can I do it again!?’ that stirred in her mind. The same feelings were evoked the first time she had ever played a piece where she was centre stage. It was a duet with a fellow student who specialised in the piano. The months leading up to the concert were filled with dread and anxiety that only mounted as the days went on. Her mother became worried that her only child would collapse under the weight of her own nerves. It didn’t seem appropriate for someone like Peri— a spunky, spontaneous girl who never shied away from a fun day out with friends—to be locked away in her bedroom mulling over Bach and Paganini for hours at a time. Little did she know that this was an unspoken expectation amongst the students in school: to practise until they could play the piece with their eyes closed. That’s when they knew they were ready for the stage.

The day of the duet concert was filled with bouts of hyperventilation and excited irritation. By contrast, her partner appeared calm and unfazed by the entire affair. She whispered accented words of encouragement and reminded Peri to be at peace with her own talents. By the time they took their final bows and the curtains closed, it was true—she wondered why she bothered to break a sweat in the first place!

Peri pulled out her phone and texted her parents—who were somewhere in Timbuktu—and Beretta—who was probably strolling the street by now with her latest boytoy—about how the concerto went. Many an emoticon and exclamation point were used, but she couldn’t help it! It was the equivalent of a debutante making her first appearance at some rich prince’s ball; dancing the mazurka and the quadrille without a single missed step. Except in her case, she was far from a _true_ debutante...but considering it was her first engagement with the London Symphonic, the comparison still felt fitting. She tapped her pointed-toe heels against the ground and peeked at her wristwatch. This break was excruciating! She just wanted to go back and play the rest of the show!

Her wish was granted about five minutes later when the orchestra and its conductor resumed their positions onstage with the same fanfare but less of the formalities expected from the start of the concert. This time, the principal player took her seat with the rest and waited for her starting note.

The piece (which Evelyn made a quick double-check of) was entitled _Pictures at an Exhibition_. Originally written as a piece for piano, Ravel’s arrangement for orchestra surpassed it in popularity. It consists of ten movements interspersed with recurring promenades that take the listener through an aural museum: each section takes on a new personality like the various artworks in a physical gallery.

It began with the call of a lone trumpeter and the response from the rest of his brass section. They continued this twice more until the sweeping sound of the strings and woodwinds joined them, but quickly the melody turned eerie as they flowed into the start of ‘The Gnome’—the second movement. Here, the lower strings, brass, and woodwinds helped to convey a scene of enigmatic fantasy. Evelyn imagined herself transported into the Shire on Middle-Earth, traipsing along the lush, grassy hills spotted with hobbit holes of various sizes and shapes. As she did so, she was unaware of the forest dwellers lurking, watching her every move from the safety of their homes. Only a few minutes later did the scene turn solemn, reminiscent of a lonely troubadour singing a ballad for no one’s ears but his own. It was here when she finally realised the meaning behind Mussorgsky’s title. Every few minutes the mood would shift, sending her on a tour of the European landscape. Take the next movement, _Tuilieries_ , which sounded like children scampering across a garden or playground with their young teachers scurrying behind.

Later the exhibition evolved into a fragile frenzy of piccolos and _pizzicatos_ to symbolise the tapping of tiny feet in the “Ballet of Unhatched Chicks”, which preceded a mother’s trepidatious, yet boisterous, stomping in “The Hut on Hen’s Legs”.

Evelyn found it mesmerising how the little old conductor would vacillate between flailing his arms about and, for he did not use a baton, moving his fingers in a dainty, magical way as though spreading pixie dust on his players. The orchestra all moved as one body, their bows gliding in the same direction and at the same tempo; their heads and torsos all swaying and bobbing in time. But she couldn’t help but fixate on Peri. Her dark brown hair flipped to-and-fro like the high seas when the piece became fierce. Similarly, the Doctor reserved his elaborate, exaggerated gestures for when the low strings and brass were in full swing.

When the capricious suite culminated with the ever-triumphant “In the Capital of Kiev” (sometimes named “Great Gate of Kiev”), both she and him intertwined; pulling and tugging on each other’s dynamic forces. And third was the conductor himself, bouncing and emphasising his cues until his hands spun into an arc above his head and the final chorus was uttered.

The audience reached in much the same way as after the violin concerto—wild applause, cheers, and standing ovations. The only difference was now they shouted for an encore! After giving them enough time to wonder whether or not one would happen, the conductor produced a wide, toothy grin, bowed, and turned back to his ensemble. The encore was a soft, romantic _pas de deux:_ a staple of classical ballet wherein a dance is performed by two people. And when _that_ was over, the crowd cheered for more, more! The conductor whispered just loudly enough for his players to hear, and Peri chuckled because, this time, the joke actually humoured her. They all flipped their sheet music to the next set of pages and once the hands went up, they erupted into the quick and spirited overture to _Ruslan and Ludmila_ by Glinka.

There was not a call for a third encore, which was just as well because the symphony didn’t have any additional pieces left to play for the night. After a final bow from both the conductor and the ensemble, they sauntered out of view and the house lights rose once more.

“Fabulous! Just absolutely fabulous!” Evelyn cheered, still clapping with scores of people who just didn’t want the show to end. But soon the clapping faded and the same scores of people proceeded to make their way to the nearest exits.

“I admit that I wouldn’t know where to begin had I been expected to write a review on what we have witnessed tonight. The pristine intonation, the robust articulation, the harmonic balance between the sections…! Virtually unmatched! This conductor—” the Doctor quickly flipped through his program to the appropriate page, “Mr Tom Sadler, he should feel ever fortunate to have such a marvellous orchestra under his direction.”

Evelyn looked up at her companion, who was now staring longingly beyond the balcony and out at the empty stage, “And what about your star musician? The violinist?”

Yes, the young maestro. Attending this concert only made him yearn for the times when he’d spend half of the day sitting in front of his lustrous, onyx-coloured grand piano. Now it was covered in dings and scratches from goodness knows what and shrouded in a light veil of dust. It had been years since he tickled the ivories and serenaded anyone with a concerto or even an étude of his own. But this Peri...she had all of the skill and tenacity that he desired in a playing partner. He wondered if she would be willing to join him for a song or two? The Doctor stroked his chin in the slick way that could only spell trouble, “Mm, I must express my appreciation to her in person, don’t you think?”

“I figured you’d say that.”

With Evelyn tagging behind, he made his way down to the main, ground level while dodging the hordes of people who were determined to go in the opposite direction. At the front of the stage stood an usher on each side of the stairs, their hands clasped firmly behind their backs.

“Excuse me?” he said in a sweet tone, but he received no response, “Excuse me?”

The usher blinked and shook her head as though returning back into reality, “Sorry; lost in thought. Can I help you?”

“Yes, I’m the Doctor and I’d like to speak with one of the musicians who have performed tonight? I have a proposition to make.”

Evelyn wrinkled her face into one conveying sheer disgust and pretended to clutch her pearls, “Goodness me,” she mumbled.

“Are they expecting you?” the usher asked.

“ _No_ , but it is rather important, you see.”

The attendant’s face dropped, “I’m sorry, but I’m not allowed to take you backstage if you neither have a pass nor are expected. Maybe you could email the director and have him forward your message?”

The Doctor slid out his pocket watch and checked the time. It was approaching the hour when most were getting ready for bed (or preparing themselves for an eventful night). But since their eventful night had just concluded, surely Peri was eager to kick off her shoes and cozy up with a warm cup of tea. The Doctor clicked his teeth, “Perhaps you’re right. Thank you.”

“Giving up so easily, Doctor?” Evelyn goaded once they were out of earshot of the warden, “That’s not like you at all.”

“Of course it isn't! Where there’s a will, there’s a way, Evelyn, and luckily I’ve been blessed with the gift of resolution!”

~~~~

Peri packed up her belongings and said her farewells to those she had the privilege of performing with that night. It really did fare much better than she had expected, especially because they had been requested to play not one but _two_ encores! The only downside was that none of her friends and family had attended—none had witnessed what a stupendous show that was.

As she checked her phone, she was hit with a barrage of messages all congratulating her on a fantastic first show and giving apologies for having not been there. It was bittersweet, she couldn’t deny that, but at the same time, in their absence, she tugged at the heartstrings and soothed the weary souls of hundreds more. Every time she played she hoped at least one person was inspired to follow their musical dreams and to not give up regardless of what anyone said. Perlman and Heifetz never told her the mantra personally, but just watching them on her local PBS station; how their fingers would glide across the fingerboard as though it was the easiest, most majestic thing in the world inspired her for life. Music is a gift, and she was honoured to be a bearer.

Peri snaked past a handful of union members who were making their way to the stage as she was ambling out the building. It always came as a surprise when she exited out the theatre to pitch blackness after walking in when it was light and visible. She craned her neck to determine if any shops or cafes were still open at this hour. Despite her job being in the centre of downtown, she still wasn’t fully acquainted with the intricacies of the city. She always went straight home after packing up for the day. Speaking of which, how was Beretta doing?

The Doctor’s coat whipped in the breeze as he strided towards the back entrance of the venue. Evelyn huffed and clutched her purse as she tried to keep up. After all, there was no use in telling him, of all people, to slow down. She just wished that, for once, he would understand that the amount of stamina she had in her youth far exceeded the amount she had now. He didn’t tell her that after dinner and a show came an exercise class!

“Miss Brown!” she called from afar, “Miss Brown!”

The Doctor stopped in his tracks, shocked that Evelyn would be so conspicuous. Meanwhile, Peri was stunned that someone had recognised her through the dim streetlights. She couldn’t tell one figure from the next, although something about that tall fellow seemed intriguing.

“My friend...my friend the Doctor is a huge fan of yours,” Evelyn said through a series of small pants, “He practically dragged me out here to meet you.” She debated on ending her introduction with a “Heaven knows why,” but opted to say no more. Though his enquiry to the usher came off as a bit odd, there was no way his proposition was anything close to the kind a university frat boy would conjure up.

Peri could tell by her tone that the comment was made in jest and she smiled sweetly, “Thank you, uh, _Doctor_?” She held out a hand which the Time Lord shook firmly, “What was your favourite part of the show?”

“How can one choose a favourite? Each piece was equally worthy of admiration.”

“Well thanks, we work hard for comments like that!”

“But I did note how wonderfully you played your concerto. I’ve seen many a violinist over the years but none seem to work the horse hair like you do!”

Peri’s cheeks began to flush and she gave a simpering shrug, “Aw, you really think so?”

“I do,” he smiled, “And that’s why it was imperative that I meet you tonight...It would be an honour if you, Miss Brown, would allow me the distinction of playing a duet with you sometime in the not so distant future.”

Peri felt her prepossessing countenance reddening from a million different emotions that she didn’t fully grasp. In her mind she imagined herself looking like a beet which made her giggle and only exacerbated the issue. She took another glance up at the distinguished man standing before her. It was only now, when they were standing close to one another, when she could see the details of his elegant black tie accoutrement accented by the thin silver chain of his watch. She desperately wanted to embrace her inner Disney princess and be bashful to the point of ‘fainting’ so the prince could wisp her away to Neverland...but she didn’t, “I’d love to,” she proclaimed, “It’s been forever since I’ve done that. What do you play?”

Without breaking away from her twinkling doe eyes, he pulled a business card out from his coat pocket and presented it to her with a dramatic flounce, “I dabble a bit on the keys.”

“‘ _The Doctor—Professor of English, Sheffield-Hallam University,’”_ she read, “Sheffield? Isn’t that a long way to drive just to come and see me?”

“ _Far?_ ” With a scoff he waved away the thought, “Preposterous. Sheffield to London is _hardly_ far, Miss Brown.”

The conversation with her friend from earlier in the day flashed in Peri’s mind. For a split second she felt that maybe, just maybe, this was some hired hand of Beretta’s employment. It was all too serendipitous, but then again, this man—this _Doctor—_ he wasn’t the type that she spent her time around. Heck, he wasn’t the type that Peri acquainted herself with either. Back in school it was always the gruff jocks and lazy, wannabe-rich kids that she was attracted to. The kind who would never dare call her ‘Miss Brown’ even when they asked her out to prom. But the Doctor seemed different in every way imaginable. Yeah, her mother would still roll her eyes if she was here, “Another guy, Peri?” she’d sigh with indignation. But look at him! He _oozed_ elegance. He _was_ a stranger, though. A stranger she was meeting in a back alley downtown, no less. But she was curious. And that was another statement her parents would always say to her, “You’re such a go-getter!”. That was an epithet that couldn’t be attributed to someone who _wasn’t_ curious about _something_!

Hey, she was living on her own in a metropolis with a career that many could only dream of. A little bit of leisurely pleasures could be afforded every now and again. She pursed her lips and gazed up at the debonair standing before her, “Please, call me Peri.”

~~~~

It was the morning after the big day and Peri was still running on some modicum of adrenaline. Admittedly, her last thought before she drifted off to sleep and the first thought she had upon waking up was _him_ , but she chalked it up to chance. A similar phenomenon to how one can sometimes influence their dreams by consuming content related to the topic they desire. There was no way, after everything she’d done yesterday, that _he_ was the one and only subject that stood out in her mind. She refused to believe it.

But there the two roommates were, lounging around their living room slash dining room slash kitchen combination after dining on a hearty breakfast of tea and bagels (because neither one felt like cooking). They had just finished discussing the first item on the agenda: Beretta’s date. As soon as Peri shuffled out of her bedroom her friend was already talking her head off. Her voice had found a way to raise louder than it normally was and every other word was met with some kind of excited interjection.

Darien had taken her out to eat at her favourite fast-food restaurant (which was actually the drive-through) and then, much to Peri’s chagrin, they went to a concert. A _Bruce Springsteen_ concert where she swore that Bruce winked at her during “Dancing in the Dark” despite their seats being two miles away from the stage. Then her retelling got a bit hazy and was a little too much information than Peri wanted to hear, but she nodded politely all the same (while cringing inside). Too bad they were the waffles she couldn’t eat…

From the barstool situated between the kitchen and foyer, Peri glanced down at the card that she was unconsciously twiddling with between her fingers. With a soft sigh she began painting images and fantasies and dreams across the canvas of her mind.

“So, are you gonna call him or what?” Beretta prodded, flipping through the seemingly endless list of television channels again. Peri never understood why she bothered scrolling from top to bottom every day; she always watched the same handful of networks in the end.

She shook her head and blinked, “Wha?”

“I said, when are you gonna call him?”

Peri scrunched up her face and looked incredulously at her friend whose attention was still focused on moving pictures, “Call who...m?”

“ _Him!_ On the _card!_ I know you met a man last night, don’t try to deny.”

“Now you’re being ridiculous; I didn’t meet anyone last night.”

“Then what’s on the card?”

“Nothing. I—I mean, nothing important. It’s just a card for a business that was advertising there.”

Beretta turned towards Peri with her fabricated eyebrows shot high in the air, “Oh really.”

“Yeah…”

“So why are you still hanging onto it? Throw it away!”

“W—what?”

“Come on, girl, why’re you pickin’ up ads from a company’s table as if you don’t have all this fancy, dancy, state-of-the-art equipment already?”

“Because you never know?”

Beretta set her lips into a hard line and held out her hand, palm upwards, “Mhmm, okay now, lemme see it then.”

“It’s not even interesting!”

Beretta said nothing audibly, but the way she wiggled her first four fingers in a ‘come hither’ motion said all that was on her mind. Peri knew, with Beretta’s southern gallivanter instincts, there was no way she could get out of the conversation without being hounded about it for the rest of the day. She was the human equivalent of a bloodhound who could sniff out even the slightest change in someone’s appearance or personality. Once she noticed that a mutual friend had changed the _shade_ of blue that her nails were painted in within five seconds of them meeting. With a huff, Peri jumped down from her seat and slapped the business card in her friend’s open hand. She then stood by with her arms crossed as she awaited the final verdict.

“The Doctor, a professor at some university…” She chuckled through her nose, “What kind of highfalutin’ man did you pick up?”

Peri rolled her eyes, “I _told_ you it’s no one. Now hand it back.”

Beretta clicked her teeth through a twisted grin, “How long are you gonna keep up the charade? No one _blushes_ over a random business card that isn’t even _for_ a business, _Peri_. I could practically see the sparkles in your eyes.”

“... _Oh, fiine_ ,” she sighed as she twirled back to her seat, “I did meet someone.”

“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Beretta twanged. She curled her legs up underneath her and turned to face where the _real_ dramatic storyline was, “Go on then!”

“Well, I only talked with him for a minute but, I dunno...he was so cordial, y’know? Like the kind of guy you see in the movies…”

“That’s how I felt about Darien. He could’ve been straight outta _Steel Magnolias_ or somethin’ if it wasn’t for that cockney.”

“For me it was more like _Pride and Prejudice…_ ” And she began to recount her tale of how the Doctor and his ‘mother’ had gone through an inordinate amount of effort to meet her after the concert. Every detail of the five minute conversation between the two was dragged out with meticulous, slightly exaggerated detail and an excess of giggles. Recalling the event out loud made her feel like she was reliving it all from the beginning…

“So when are you gonna call him?!”

“I will, I will…” she murmured, “It’s just...I don’t know.”

As though under the control of her inner desires, Peri slid around, hunched over the bar, and tapped the Internet browser on her phone.

“Well if he’s anythin’ like you said, he could probably find a million other girls waiting to live out their own fairy tales—”

Peri’s fingers hovered over the search field. Every time she wanted to press it, her nerves kept telling her not to.

“—I wouldn’t want too long.”

Despite it only being the day after, it was still a good point. With his charm he could swoon anyone around town—a truth that was all too distressing to come to terms with. But since she was never the kind of girl who played hard to get and she never purposefully tried to lead anyone on ‘just because she could’, she picked up her mobile with both hands and feverishly typed ‘Sheffield-Hallam’ into the search box. The results took her to the homepage of the university, where, with a bit of trial and error, she directed herself to the section for English majors.

 _“Why am I doing this?”_ she said to herself. It almost felt like she was probing around the Doctor’s social media to see what secrets he kept and what crowd he spent his time around, but at the same time he _did_ give her a card that had his place of employment listed right on the front. With a deep breath she placed her finger over the link leading to the faculty page...

But switched out of the browser and pulled up a more mindless, casual application instead. Browsing through pictures of animals, plants, and what her fellow musicians were doing didn’t make her heart flutter nearly as much as skimming through some stranger’s curriculum vitae.

“...Because I’ve always believed in love at first sight.”

Peri lifted her head from the screen, which returned her to a world where a person sitting three feet away from her was carrying on with a one-sided conversation, “Huh? Oh, right.”

Beretta tossed the card onto the coffee table, “And you said the woman with him was his mom?”

Peri shrugged, “I guess. I didn’t talk to her.”

Beretta kicked her feet up beside the discarded message and turned up the volume on the remote, “Well you know what they say about mama’s boys.”

The violinist stifled a laugh, “No, what?”

“Not sure. But it’s gotta be good, right? I mean, it’s your _mom_ ,” she looked over at her friend who’s eyes nearly rolled out of their sockets, “Hey now, I’m just saying! Just give him a call. Or would you rather _I_ do it?” Her lashes batted in a way that was reminiscent of a Secretary Bird who hadn’t yet painted her face.

“I don’t need _you_ to do anything but make dinner tonight!” Peri quipped, “I’ll call him...eventually...”

~~~~

The Doctor, now sporting his traditional attire, paced the halls of a London university’s music department. Through some finagling, he managed to not only find a free parking spot for the TARDIS, but also to secure a practice room large enough to contain both a piano and the flowing arms of a violinist.

Since meeting Peri he had spent every available second of leisure time situated in front of his piano, toiling away over Chopin’s études and Liszt’s rhapsodies. For having not practised in a longer time than he cared to admit, the notes still came naturally to his fingers and sounded as smooth as honey.

As the tender melody of “Liebesträume No. 3” danced beneath his hands and flowed throughout the TARDIS for no one to hear save for himself, the Doctor wondered why he had quit playing in the first place. It was a disservice to keep the fine music locked within the confines of his sanctum where not another living soul could appreciate it. The little signs and winks the ol’ girl gave were always welcomed and taken in stride, but it just wasn’t the same.

The beating of tiny wings patted against his stomach. The source wasn’t about whether his prowess on the keys would be upstaged by Peri’s experience. No, he knew he was brilliant in that regard. It was more so about _her_ herself—if she would enjoy his company. Despite his tough, prideful exterior, he was rather sensitive to how others perceived him...especially when this ‘other’ was someone he wished to befriend.

There were two sets of doors on opposite sides of the lobby and every five seconds there happened to be someone walking through either one of them. If Peri didn’t come on time, a bout of whiplash would surely be in his future.

The entrance hall had a myriad of different styles of seating to choose from, and yet the Doctor insisted on pacing down one hall and through the other like a caged lion. Faculty members would step out of their offices to ask if he required any help, but he’d decline and state that he was simply ‘getting his steps in’ or ‘stretching his legs’. He took a cursory glance at his watch and lamented his propensity for being early.

After what seemed like a century later, the automatic doors drifted open and finally it wasn’t a member of faculty, a visitor passing through, or a rambunctious group of young adults who failed to comprehend that the building had an ECHO—it was the one he couldn’t wait to meet again. The prim and proper Perpugilliam sauntered into the foyer with her trusty, hard-plastic violin case in hand. Her eyes darted to the left and right, but because she saw no one of relevance, she took a seat on one of the cushioned benches.

A moment later the Doctor, from the depths of the inner corridors, strided out into the open; but he only got so far when his legs jolted to a halt. With a clearing of the throat and a proper tug of the lapels, he sashayed into her vicinity with a beaming countenance.

“Ah, Peri, how wonderful it is to see you.”

With a furrowed brow, Peri sized up the man standing before her. The outfit was certainly unique and very... _avant-garde_. Not something she would have chosen but, then again, some of the wealthiest people in New York and around the world had the most eccentric, inimitable fashion sense.

“Wow, Doctor, I certainly wasn’t expecting to see you in _that!_ ”

He took a peek down to examine himself, “Hm? What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“Nothing, if you’re emulating some kind of court jester.”

If he had a shilling, a credit, or a mazuma for every time there was a smart comment directed at his sartorial taste, he’d have enough money to employ a live-in Kolpashan tailor who could make him a million more variations on a theme. Every autumn his attire would be the highlight of the freshmen’s semester as they slowly came to realise that _no_ , his ‘first day of school’ garb was _not_ meant to be taken in jest but was actually his standard uniform.

The Doctor set his hands on his hips and scoffed, “Court jester? _Court jester?!_ Look at yourself! You’re practically matching with me!”

Peri gazed down at her bright yellow blazer, matching blouse, and black trousers, “Okay, maybe I am,” she smirked, “But it wasn’t intentional.”

Maybe whatever Beretta was saying about fate and love at first sight was true? But he was wearing every colour under the sun, regardless what she would have worn one could have made the argument that they were ‘matching’. Unless she decided to wear all black again.

“So, what piece did you select for us to play, anyway?” she continued.

“Oh, one that will hopefully be to your satisfaction.” With a wiggle of his finger, the Time Lord escorted her down the hall to where the more secluded practise rooms were. Removing a brass key from his person, he unlocked the door to their own prearranged accomodations where a glistening Steinway and a music stand waited for them. Both the instrument and the stand were adorned with black folders. “Take a look,” he said.

Peri placed her violin case on a wooden slab attached to the wall and picked up the folder meant for her. Because of the neverending list of duets spanning past to present, she didn’t come with any preconceived ideas or expectations. Upon opening the folder, she was met with a tanned booklet entitled ‘Brahms — _Violin Sonata No. 3 in D Minor_ , _Opus 108_ ’ in humanist bookhand script. Her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates as she spun to face her accompanist, “Doctor, this is one of my favourite composers! How’d you know?!”

He gave an unassuming shrug, “Lucky guess?” and took a seat at the edge of the piano bench, flapping his coat in the wind behind him, “Or perhaps great minds think alike?”

“Possibly…” she mumbled to herself. She could try to decipher the inner machinations of kismet...or she could simply live and let live. The former would seem much more enticing if she was lying in bed whilst staring up at the stochastic patterns on her ceiling, so she went back to her belongings and unpacked her strings, “Can you give me a tuning note?”

He pressed down on the ‘D’ key first, and one by one she fine tuned her strings to the correct pitch. It only took a minute because she had just practised the day prior. At that moment a student entered who was to be the Doctor’s page turner. After a brief introduction, the student took their place beside the pianist and gave the thumbs up.

“Alright, now we can play!” Peri chirped.

He lightly placed his hands upon the ivories and waited for her cue, “Whenever you’re ready!”

The piece contained four movements. The first, ‘ _Allegro’_ , is done in a cantabile style—a smooth, angelic sound akin to singing. Both instruments take turns in leading and being one another’s accompanist but, for the most part, Peri’s crisp, lyrical bow strokes provided the melody that blended in with the gentle, polished arpeggios from the Doctor’s harmony. When it was time for them to switch roles, his hands moved with a sudden ferocity that his body couldn’t help but follow. Then Peri became dominant once again as she returned the storyline back to its original theme and ultimately into the second movement: ‘ _Adagio’_. This was a short aria-like section, where the violin created a sweet and romantic atmosphere by the use of mid-to-low pitches and expressive double-stops. Because of the lilted, waltzing ambiance, the piano only provided a simple backdrop to the rich tones of the strings.

As the second movement came to its final cadence, the Doctor turned to follow Peri’s cues. As the vibrato rang out from underneath her fingers, she stole a glimpse of his impassioned eyes and couldn’t help but flush.

Returning the sentiment, he jumped into the third movement—‘ _Un poco presto e con sentimento’—_ where he took the helm. His hands fluttered as he played a peppy and playful tune that she then repeated. By the end, as he played various arpeggios, she was providing a series of chords on his off-beats.

The final movement—’ _Presto agitato’_ —began with a fervent intensity by Peri. Her bow whipped against the strings as though she was filled with nonexistent ire. Likewise, the Doctor couldn’t help but sway and hit his fingers against the keys with virtuosity. Their heads bobbed in unison throughout the section, which made the student chuckle quietly to themselves because of the dramatic flinging of hair and the expressive, gritty looks upon their faces.

The final notes reverberated past the soundproof barrier of their space, and they remained in suspended animation until the last trace of it had evanesced into silence.

Peri lowered her violin into a resting position, “Doctor, you’re...you’re brilliant!” she exclaimed, “How long have you been playing?”

His response to her flattery went without saying, but he debated on how much truth he should sprinkle in when answering her question. He thought taking the general approach would be more suitable now, “Music has been a part of my life since I was young, but I’ve only begun to learn the art of _la musica classica_ recently...relatively speaking. I understand you’ve been playing quite a while yourself?”

“Yeah, it’s always been a dream of mine to be a pro violinist and now I’m living it! Sometimes I still can’t believe any of this is real.”

“With your talent,” he softly shut the piano lid, “I believe you’ll go much further; this is only the beginning for Miss Perpugilliam Brown.”

Blood rushed to her cheeks, “You really think so?”

The Doctor laid a tender hand across his chest, “I do.”

They gazed into each other’s eyes for, by their accounts, felt like an eternity, but for the student awkwardly sitting in the corner it was more like...two minutes or so.

“Ahem,” they interrupted.

“Oops,” the musicians chuckled.

“Well, um, thanks for inviting me,” Peri simpered.

The Doctor smiled but said nothing. He simply waited for her to set down her instrument and shuffle the sheet music back in order because when she did, she uncovered a hidden gem: the delicate and refined _Violin Sonata No. 18 in G Major_ by Wolfgang Amadeus.

“Forget something?” she gibed, waving the piano sheets in front of her.

“ _Mozart?_ ” he gasped with faux-perplexity, “Now how did he find his way in there?”

“Maybe he jumped in when you weren’t looking.”

The Doctor reached for the dossiers and sorted them along the desk, “If he wants to be played, we would be remiss to not respect his wishes!”

For the next fifteen minutes they were two epicureans indulging in the many flavours of chamber music and providing a complementary show to one lucky student. The Doctor felt as though some dormant part of him had been shocked back to life. All because he decided to engage in some much needed cleaning of the various junk drawers, trunks, and closets in the TARDIS. It was there when he found a letter addressed to him by Pyotr Ilyich requesting his opinion on an opera he was suggested to write. From there, he felt a pang of nostalgia and decided to listen to his favourite Tchaikovsky compositions. They still sounded just as delightful as the previous time he’d heard them. That same night, he decided to check the local orchestras for any concerts that fit in his and Evelyn’s schedules. To think that none of this could have occurred had he decided to choose a different philharmonic or to not tidy up his living quarters made him, for a moment, believe in fate.

When the piece concluded they had another brief intermission of conversation. After a check, Peri correctly assumed that there were no further songs the Doctor had brought for them to play and she began to pack away her belongings. As she did so, he asked if she was hungry and she replied, “Now that you mention it, I am a bit starved.”

He tapped his chin, “I know a lovely coffee shop that serves the best desserts in town according to a dear friend of mine.”

The suggestion alone was enough to whet Peri’s taste buds; together they dismissed the page turner and went on their merry way courtesy of a pleasant stroll. Over two slices of decadent chocolate cake and a sampler of the cafe’s recommended eats, they delved into...the more traditional aspects of a date. Even if it wasn’t technically billed as one.

Laughter was had, knowledge was obtained, curiosity was piqued, and fun was definitely plentiful. If it were anyone else, Peri would’ve been put-off by such verbosity, but with the Doctor it felt strangely endearing. Perhaps it was because he wasn’t rambling about the latest celebrity gossip or popular trend that would become obsolete in two months (sorry, Beretta), but instead about science, philosophy, and the arts as a whole. It was better to have someone talk too much about even the most esoteric of topics than someone who said nothing at all. Meanwhile, he was enamoured by the fact that someone of her age was almost... _almost_...as learned as he was. They hadn’t even started with small talk; the conversation commenced with a discussion on French literature!

Though, in the back of his mind he wondered if she had an adventurous side. If she was the kind who was willing to explore the world and then some; to make a name for herself in ways she never thought possible. But he’d gotten this far without referencing his unhuman ancestry and figured that that was an enquiry he’d save for another time.

It wasn’t until the baristas reprimanded them for the third time for staying after hours that they began to wind down. The conversation never stopped despite it, and they carried on talking about botany (a lesser-known interest of hers) until they reached her vehicle still located in the university’s car park.

“This is it, then,” the Doctor sighed, handing Peri her violin case before stuffing his hands deep into his pockets. The flicker of a defective streetlight still remained capable of caressing them in a blanket of warm luminescence and the sound of revving motors helped to break the expected disquietude.

She tilted her head downwards and held the instrument close to her like a nervous child on the first day of school, “I...I guess so…”

The Time Lord darted his eyes in a million different places. After conversing for hours he couldn’t find the right words to say anymore. As much as he didn’t want it to, the night had to end sometime. And that meant he had to part ways with her—at least for tonight.

Peri lifted her gaze and noticed the wrinkles that had wiped the charismatic charm from his visage. She knew he was wallowing in the same deep water as her.

“I—” they both blurted.

Peri chuckled behind her hand, “You first.”

“I just wanted to say thank you for a spectacular outing today. I hope you had a _wheely_ nice time as well, and that our staying late doesn’t cause you too much _treble_.”

Her hand reached up to slap her face, “Goodness sakes, Doctor,” she grimaced, “You need to go Bach and revise your Liszt of jokes because that was terrible.”

After a hearty laugh, Peri pulled out her keys and scooted herself into her car. With a roll of the window he could once again see the way her dark eyes were beaming with jubilance, “Good night, Doctor.”

He raised a hand to wave but it appeared more like an unenthusiastic high-five.

As she drove off their island and into the bustling city, he watched every last second, every last turn of her wheel before the car was no longer in sight. It wasn’t their final curtain call, but there was no doubting that an already late night was going to turn into an early morning.

His hand dropped to his side, “Good night, Peri,” he whispered, “Good night.”

~~~~

Two days later at Sheffield-Hallam, Evelyn was on her lunch break which could only mean one thing: off to sneak a visit to her friend the Professor. She strolled along the bright and airy hall, lunch pail in hand, and tapped rhythmically on his office door before entering.

“Working hard or hardly working?” she joked, noting how his feet were propped up on the desk and how a half-read novel was opened in hand, “No headbanging today, I see.”

The Doctor reinserted his bookmark and set the book back on the table, “My appetite for music has been well sated for the meantime, Evelyn. Just a spot of rereading.”

“ _The Trial_? Ah, the old Josef K. bit. So, tell me, Doctor—” she opened her lunch and pulled out a pastrami on rye, “Tell me all about _her_.”

“Hm? Oh,” He was instantly taken back to the moment when Peri had left him alone with his own thoughts to keep him company. After returning back to his TARDIS, had a slight episode of frenzy that lasted all night...or day? The time had escaped him. He recalled inputting a set of random coordinates and pacing back and forth while vibrantly soliloquising to himself. Something about how he was never going back to Earth and never meeting Peri again (which he knew even at the time was a complete fib).

When that got tiring, he popped over to his study where random lines of poetry were scrawled onto the first piece of paper he could find in hopes of arresting whatever feelings were overtaking him. It was in the midst of fiddling around with things that _didn’t_ need to be fiddled around with when he fell asleep. Whether that occurred one minute or one hour after the feverish writing session was anyone’s guess.

“She was sweet,” he deadpanned.

“Sweet.”

“Yes. _Sweet_.”

Evelyn pursed her lips, “After all the things I can _assume_ you did together, all you have to say is _sweet?_ Good heavens, Doctor, at least you could have provided me with the luxury of _two_ adjectives.”

He exhaled firmly and swivelled to gaze out the hazy window panes, “Shall I compare her to a summer’s day?”

“I’ll take that as another way of listing every synonym under the word ‘perfect’. If Miss Brown can make you, of all people, tongue-tied then surely she’s a keeper.”

“I don’t understand what I’m feeling, Evelyn...” the Time Lord swivelled back and covered his face with his hands, “There’s this...ineradicable yearning within me that is adulterating my every last ounce of sanity! What am I supposed to do!?”

Evelyn shook her head and laughed, “Love is a many splendoured thing, Doctor!”


End file.
